


To Feel So Bright

by desfinado



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-02
Updated: 2011-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desfinado/pseuds/desfinado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not until they’re out in the desert, getting ready to film, that they realize Frank’s outfit is all wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Feel So Bright

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for brooklinegirl a million times over for the constructive beta! Any remaining errors (especially of the canon variety) are mine.

Frank wedges his phone into his back pocket after saying a fond "I love you" to Jamia and the two screamers in the background. He always misses her when he’s out here in California, but it’s different now with the twins, more immediate.

He’s finally got the fucking leather pants on—despite being covered in a layer of sweat and dust _already_ —followed by the t-shirt and boots, but he's stuck on the jacket Gerard had left for him. Even though this morning is just set aside to scope out the diner and motel for spots to shoot scenes, everyone had decided to put their outfits on early, excited and impatient.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, alone in the back room of the diner.

It’s not the first time he wishes he’d been around to buy all the fun costume shit with Toro and Mikey and everyone beforehand. His fingers are too fucking blunt for this thing, but he _just_ manages to get the last of at least six zippers done before he looks up to see Gerard standing in the doorway in his get-up. _He_ looks the part. Frank really, really doesn’t.

Gerard hums a greeting and frowns, slipping off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby table. He reaches out towards Frank but then pulls his hand back.

"I dunno. I think—hm." Gerard's brow creases and he steps further into the room, boots heavy on the floor.

Frank holds his palms out at his sides. "I'm no costume designer, Gee. You gotta tell me." It hurts to widen his legs in these fucking pants, how are people supposed to fight crime in them?

Gerard sighs and pushes a hand through his hair, stringy and red between his fingers. "It's not you, you know? It’s less Easy Rider and more..."

Frank grins. "Tiny Dancer?"

Gerard looks apologetic but he’s smiling. “It looked fucking awesome in the store. You shoulda seen that place! I had to resist buying every jacket they owned.”

“I’m sure you did,” Frank agrees and tucks his thumbs under the waistband of his pants, trying to tug them down a bit and un-stick them from his thighs.

"Okay." Gerard grins and claps his hands together. "Okay! Let’s go fix this.”

“How?” Frank asks. “It’s two hours to L.A.”

Gerard waves dismissively. “We can totally find something in Palmdale, it’s half an hour away.” He hitches his pale, dirt-smeared jeans up a bit—they haven't put all the goddamn holsters on yet, thank god—and heads for the door.

“Shouldn’t we, like—” Frank frowns, “help out here?”

But Gerard just says, "Jon’s busy with lighting and shit, he won’t mind. I’ll meet you at my car!” before disappearing into the bright square of sky and dirt framed by the doorway.

Frank sighs and starts pulling zippers down at random, skinning a knuckle as one gets stuck, “Fucking piece of shit.” He can hear people outside, Steve's laughter low and rumbling, Chantal’s animated voice rising above it.

"Motherfucker." He smiles, giving up on the jacket, and goes to tell Jon they’ll be back by lunch.

* * *

It's hot in a way that Jersey doesn’t get this time of year. Rolling the window of Gerard's car down doesn't seem to do much but blow more hot air at him, like opening an oven when it's going full-blast. Gerard's wailing along to the last few lines of _Summertime_ when he looks over and catches Frank watching him.

"Y’know, we've been cruising to this album for ages but this is my first time getting to do it with _you_ ," Gerard grins. His hair flies around his face, fiery red and making him look a little crazy.

"It was better when I sang it in _my_ car," Frank counters, eyes back out on the desert, "J said it'd make a good screamo record."

Gerard snorts and slows down, taking a corner that brings them off the dirt-covered road and onto a two-lane country highway. "She doing okay?”

“Yeah, she’s doing good,” Frank says, and then amends it with “amazing. I’d be shit without her, especially now.” He can’t keep the pride from his voice.

Gerard smiles. “When we're retired and penniless," he says firmly after a few minutes, "then we'll come back with your 'interpretation' of our body of work. Big money.”

"Acoustic," Frank adds, reaching over to turn the volume up on the next track. "That's when I sound my best."

Gerard grins at him again, lopsided. He rakes his fingers through his hair before his eyes flick back to the highway and he swings a little too quickly onto another road.

Frank slides up against the car door with the turn and lets his head hang out the window, eyes closed, smiling indiscriminately out at the world. The wind that pushes his hair back from his face is thick with the smell of dirt, so different from home.

"You ever sing her lullabies?" Frank says after a few moments. It's not the first time he's asked Gerard a question about Bandit, but it's the first chance he's had to do it in person since the twins were born.

"Oh god, yeah. I woke Lindsey up once because I'd started off on Enter Sandman and kinda forgot myself." Frank giggles and Gerard flashes him a happy smile. "Later she told Alicia that she'd found me at five in the morning, sitting on a miniature pink rocking horse, screaming _off to never-never land_ at her daughter."

They both crack up and Frank tucks his hair behind his ears, his cheeks hurting from how much he’s been smiling since he got to the West Coast. The road rolls by them, Gerard slowing as they enter the city, yellow cracked soil and dry brush giving way to bright green manicured lawns and church parking lots.

Frank looks at him, really _looks_ at him, for the first time since he flew in from Jersey. Gerard’s hair is new, yeah, but kind of like he used to wear it when Frank was still in Pencey. His hands are spread wide on the steering wheel, pinkies tapping to the beat as he smiles, a little purse of his lips, like he's been doing all day. Frank thinks Gerard looks _alive_.

Frank has felt a lot more alive in the past few weeks too, alive in the way you only can when little girls give you toothless smiles like you’re the most important thing in the world. He feels alive in the way that sometimes the bags under his eyes never go away and he feels like a zombie, shuffling down the aisles of the grocery store clutching a package of Pampers and a box of instant coffee to his chest; in the way his fingers find the soft parts of Jamia's body under the covers when the twins are napping and they giggle into each other's mouths, falling asleep with his hands up under her t-shirt, just to hold on to the body that gave them both something so amazing.

Frank feels a little stupid when he thinks about how he’s filled with a similar sort of emotion about their new record. About what they're doing today.

"Goodwill?" Gerard asks, and Frank blinks. They're swinging into a parking lot, car lurching as Gerard gears down and they coast into a spot.

"Oh!" Frank sits up, feels his leg hair catch the sweaty leather of his pants and winces. "My fucking balls are _so_ ready for Goodwill."

"No sweatpants allowed in the desert," Gerard warns as he hikes a faded-looking blue backpack onto one shoulder, slamming his door and gesturing at Frank’s.

"Give me Hammer pants," Frank says decisively as he flips the lock down and closes the door, "or give me death."

It's pretty quiet inside, tinny music coming from nowhere-speakers, fluorescent lights bright in a way the sunshine isn’t, and a blast of air conditioning that makes Frank stop short in the doorway, closing his eyes and exhaling. "Fuck yeah."

Gerard snorts from somewhere ahead of him and Frank looks up, notices the only other person in the store—a middle-aged woman at the cash—is frowning at him. Then Frank remembers what he’s wearing. He grins unapologetically at her and follows the pale slope of Gerard’s shoulders to the men's section. Gerard’s sleeveless shirt sags on the side his backpack's hanging from.

"I veto leather pants of any variety," Frank says across a rack of worn t-shirts, slipping his fingers along the soft sleeves as he walks. "Or anything with more than one zipper."

Gerard doesn't say anything but Frank knows his imagination is going, character sketches passing through his mind, little cartoon Franks staring defiantly off the page, splashes of color.

"Yellow, right?" Frank asks after a moment, pulling a mustard-colored t-shirt off the rack. It's got a giant clover leaf on it, one that shows through even inside out. He puts it back.

Gerard hums, hair falling in his eyes and necklace swinging forwards as he leans over a box of things on the floor. "Hey!" he announces, standing up. He snakes a faded yellow belt out of the pile, wiggling it in Frank's direction, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," Frank says, amused. "Yellow belt. Congratulations." He flips by another t-shirt—too small.

Gerard tries to whip him with the belt across the rack of shirts to get his attention but it barely grazes Frank's elbow before the end snaps Gerard in the face. They both stare for a second at the belt and then each other before bursting out laughing.

"Dude, weak," Frank says, shaking his head. "You gotta get your shit together before we tour."

"Wow. I’m falling apart," Gerard agrees, "Jesus Christ." His fingers skip over the blossoming red spot on his chin before his eyes catch something over Frank's shoulder. "Oh! Jackets!" He leaves the belt hanging over the metal rack before disappearing into the aisle.

"Do I need a jacket? Really?" Frank asks the store at large after he's collected five yellow shirts he thinks will fit him. "Or are you just projecting your jacket issues onto me."

He doesn't get a response, so he moves on to pants. He is _not_ wearing any more leather. It makes embarrassing creaking noises, rubs his thighs raw, and smells rancid at the end of a day in the sun.

Frank thinks about Jamia as he tucks a few pairs of black jeans over his bent arm, does the math in his head and guesses that her mom is probably over by now and they've already had dinner. He wants to check in again, but she'd just answer the phone with "They’re still breathing, still shitting, and still cute as hell," and laugh her big beautiful laugh at him. He slips his phone out of his back pocket and rubs his thumb along its edge absently as he looks out the storefront windows at the blue, cloudless sky.

"Hi."

Frank drops his phone in surprise when he feels Gerard's hand slip under his jacket and squeeze his side. "Fuck off," he giggles, squirming away, and Gerard grins before holding up an armful of leather. "Oh _god_."

"You trust me," Gerard says confidently and jerks his head to the back of the store. "Should we try this shit on?"

"We?" Frank asks, snatching up his phone and the forgotten belt as they pass.

"Whatever." Gerard waves his hand and swings his backpack down into it. "Here." The change rooms line a poorly-lit hallway, empty stalls on either side. Frank looks around for someone to check how many items they've got but there’s no one there. A part of him is kind of bummed that Goodwill doesn't think he and Gerard look like the type for theft.

"Do you think we look like dads?" he asks as they hang up the clothes they've got on the three coat hooks in the far stall. Frank smiles as he hangs the last shirt, running a hand down it. "Shit, Gee. _Dads_. What the fuck."

Gerard laughs softly, and when Frank turns around he nearly buckles because Gerard is hugging him hard and the backs of Frank's knees slam into the edge of the bench seat.

"Shit," he laughs around a faceful of red hair, that Gerard-smell that he's missed (since the _first_ bone-crushing hug at the airport). He staggers forward a bit to right himself, feels Gerard shuffle along with him.

"So fucking proud of you, Frankie," Gerard mutters against Frank's shoulder. He squeezes hard and Frank makes a choked sort of sound around another giggle. "No, I will not stop hugging you right now, okay? Just give me my moment rubbing all the skin off my face on these zippers. _Twins_."

Frank smiles and closes his eyes, bunches the thin fabric of Gerard's shirt in his palms before smoothing it out again. He can feel the bumps of Gerard's spine. "Am I gonna be a skinny motherfucker like you after a few more months of changing diapers and forgetting to eat?"

"Nah," Gerard says, stepping back and meeting his gaze with bright eyes. His skin looks sallow in the light. "L.A., man. Every fucking grocery store is health food, y’know? Granola shit."

Frank grins, starts yanking the zippered monstrosity of a jacket off. "I miss Jersey diner food," Gerard admits.

"Damn straight you do." Frank adds it to the list of things to remind Gerard of next time they're having a Jersey-or-Cali debate.

Frank leaves the jacket on the floor and peels off his sweat-damp t-shirt, tossing it at Gerard's face—ignoring his complaining noises—before turning to grab one off a hanger. "Just tell me if anyone's out there and I'll close the door against my white ass."

Gerard drops the t-shirt on the floor and leans against the doorway, arms crossed, as Frank tries on three different shirts. One is plain but they both agree it's too pastel-colored, won't go with the arm-band he'd been wearing earlier. The other two have decals that Gerard doesn't think work with their aesthetic (even though the howling wolf is totally awesome).

They can't decide between the last two, one with a flaming skull, which they both think is pretty badass, and one that's actually a black baseball t-shirt with yellow sleeves and some white lettering. Frank leaves the last one on as he finally pops the button on his pants and shimmies them off.

"Ow ow _ow_ ," he complains as he loses more leg hair to the leather. "How the fuck do you wear that pair you own? Do you wax your legs or what?"

Gerard grins, cocks his hip out from the doorframe. "Rock star."

"Right." Frank hops into a few pairs of pants. The first three won't even do up. He giggles and tries to suck his stomach in. "Can't wear shit with this ghetto booty I've still got," he says as he gives up on another pair. “Guess I haven’t gone down as many sizes as I thought.”

Gerard scratches his forehead, amused. "Want me to go check in the maternity section?"

Frank blows a raspberry at him and manages to get one pair buttoned up just at that moment. "Hey, look! Have faith." He lifts first one knee, then the other, before sitting on the bench. They slip down his ass a bit but otherwise feel fine. "See?" He stands up and turns full circle for Gerard, who nods, smiling. "Alright. Lay your jackets on me, Way."

Gerard bites his lip and reaches over Frank's shoulder, pulling one off its hanger. "Turn around."

Frank turns and lets Gerard guide his arms into the jacket. The leather's cool and smooth and Gerard grips Frank's shoulders, turns him back around. "Well?" Frank asks, eyebrows raised.

Gerard makes some unsure noises, doing up the front and patting it down. It feels different from the zippered one that's forgotten on the floor, a lot looser around his ribcage. "Hold your arms out." Frank does and looks at the mirror on the wall next to them. The jacket's black with some ribbing around the chest. "Too big," Gerard says firmly, "off."

Frank laughs. "How can you tell?" He shrugs it off anyway, putting it on the bench. "Forget I asked that. I don't wanna hear you get pornographic about lapels again."

"No idea what you're talking about," Gerard says, and insists on helping Frank into the next jacket too. "How's this one feel?"

Frank wiggles a bit, stretching his arms out ahead of him and then behind him, feels the pull at his armpits. "Fine. Kinda boring though, all black. You guys all have some fun shit on yours."

"Yeah," Gerard says wistfully. "Guess we don't have time to get anyone to sew some stuff on." He steps in behind Frank, tugging at the hem of the jacket and frowning as Frank watches him in the mirror.

"You enjoying yourself?" Frank asks, and he means it to be a jab at Gerard's obsession with jackets, but it comes out kind of soft—he's just so stupidly happy to be hanging out with his band again—and Gerard looks up, eyes wide, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

" _God_ , yes. Yes. Are you?"

Frank laughs, "Yeah, of course. I just—" he shakes his head, wriggling out of the jacket. "We knew we'd finally found it, in the studio, I guess. Or _created_ it or whatever. But this still feels so... like it's going to be this huge and crazy thing, but no one knows yet. I dunno."

Frank stays facing the mirror, watching Gerard pull another jacket off a hanger. "Arms," Gerard says matter-of-factly, and Frank lifts them up so Gerard can slip the jacket on. "I know what you mean. It finally feels complete, like full circle. We're really doing this shit right."

Frank doesn't register his words for a second, surprised at the light feeling of the fabric before realizing he's just put his arms through a leather _vest_. It's got weird symbols on the breast— _yellow_ symbols—and stretches tight across his shoulders. He looks up at Gerard in the mirror, who's watching his reflection intently. "Yeah," he smiles. Gerard smiles back, smoothes a hand down Frank's back. He can feel it at the base of his spine, the jacket riding a bit high.

It swells up in Frank again, what they're doing, what's going to follow: a fucking whirlwind year, bright stage lights and long flights, a fret board under his fingertips. Finally out of the studio; the rooms never felt big enough for what they were doing in there.

"It's way too fucking small on you," Gerard says finally, "can you even do it up?"

Frank blinks for a minute and then giggles, fingers a little clumsy as he attempts to get the zipper to even connect, still riding out the happy feeling in his chest. "Nope." Gerard looks sympathetic. "But it's perfect anyway," Frank grins. "Look at this shit!" He turns, points at the yellow characters on the breast.

Gerard nods enthusiastically. "I totally had a feeling when I saw this one, even if it's sleeveless."

"How's it look, then?" Frank asks, hands on his hips. "All together?"

Gerard's smiling but he waves at his backpack. "Put your boots back on. I've got a holster in my bag."

Frank snorts. "Dork. Of course you have a holster in your bag." He zips his boots up over the pants and grabs the holster Gerard hands him. He's busy hooking the leather under the shoulder straps of his vest when he feels Gerard's fingers in his belt loops, body close behind him.

"I feel like a fucking Ken doll," Frank says, twisting under his armpit to get the holster done up. It's kind of cool though, strapping shit on and zipping it up, layers and buckles. He feels fierce with all this stuff attached to him. "Hey!" He laughs as Gerard threads the yellow belt through his last two loops, arms around his waist. "I can do up my own belt, mom."

Gerard's warm against his back and Frank can see him smiling in the mirror. He lifts his arms so Gerard can do the buckle up. Frank makes an _oof_ sound when Gerard pulls it too tight, but grins as their gazes meet in the glass.

"Desert warrior," Gerard says, and leans forward to hook his chin over Frank's shoulder and slip his thumbs into Frank's front belt loops. Frank leans back against his weight, warm and familiar but taller than he's used to with Jamia, flat from chest to waist.

He watches Gerard take in his outfit from head to toe. It's nice in the way it always is when you get Gerard's undivided attention. It’s something that Frank knows he'll get when it's important, but that still makes a bit of sweat break out across his shoulder blades. The change room smells like Febreeze and other people's B.O.

"Desert warrior _dad_ ," Gerard says after a moment, smiling, and slips his hands to Frank's sides, squeezing bare skin where the waistband of his jeans dig in.

"Hey!" Frank squirms good-naturedly, not really pulling away, but Gerard holds on. "J needs those love handles to grab onto."

Gerard presses his mouth into Frank's shoulder and raises his eyebrows, hair a brilliant red against the black of the leather vest and his dark eyebrows.

"Whenever we actually start staying awake long enough to fuck," Frank amends with a grin.

Gerard nods, fixes him with smiling eyes. They're quiet for a moment. Frank wonders how long they've been gone from the diner and how many hours the twins have let Jamia sleep today and if Gerard's been secretly working out, because there's a bit of definition in his biceps and for some reason it seems really feminine.

"You look good, Frankie," Gerard says softly into Frank's shoulder. His fingers are still on Frank's sides, hands warm.

Frank rolls his eyes because it feels like when your mom tells you you're handsome or whatever. But his spine tingles a bit with the sudden awareness of how close they are, of how long it’s been since they last... It had been just before Gerard and Lindsey’s wedding. Jamia has always understood, knows that it’s mostly emotional and rarely physical. But Frank doesn’t know where Lindsey stands on it—or even Gerard, anymore—so he hasn’t pushed it since they got hitched.

Gerard raises his eyebrows again, in an insistent sort of way. "What," Frank asks.

"I _like_ your ghetto booty," Gerard argues, which sounds really stupid in his earnest voice. But then he pulls Frank back against him a little bit— _enough_ , anyway—to feel more of Gerard than he had been expecting. Frank’s skin prickles hot across his body and his hands suddenly seem awkward dangling at his sides, so he flexes them. He’s starting to sweat with all the warmth along his back.

"Really?" Frank asks. He wants to keep his voice neutral enough that if Gerard is shitting him it won't make him look like a tool, but when Frank looks away from Gerard's hard gaze to his own reflection, he knows it's pointless. If Gerard is giving them the go-ahead, Frank doesn’t think he can say no. It's all over his face.

"Really," Gerard says in a low voice. He walks both of them forward, knees against Frank's thighs, and when Frank finds himself pushed kind of forcefully against the mirror, he starts giggling. "What, motherfucker?" Gerard asks dangerously, and Frank turns his cheek against the cool glass, has to squeeze his eyes shut against the jittery excitement that suddenly overwhelms him.

"Nothing," Frank says. "Please continue flattering my fat ass." He grins because he can’t keep it from his face, bracing his hands on the mirror on either side of him. Gerard actually _growls_ , which is fucking ridiculous _and_ kind of hot in a weird way, before biting Frank's shoulder through the leather.

"Okay," Gerard agrees around a mouthful of vest, and palms Frank’s ass with his right hand to prove his point. When he squeezes, Frank is still smiling but it makes his dick twitch, hard-wired to think about how Jamia digs her fingers into the meaty part at the bottom of his ass right when she's about to come, when she says _don't move don't move don't move_ in a strained voice.

"My wife likes to flatter it too," Frank adds, wanting to give Gerard an out if he needs it.

"Good taste," Gerard says absently before folding his palms over both of Frank's hands, pressing hard into the glass as he grinds into Frank's ass and slides his open mouth across the nape of Frank's neck at the same time.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Frank gasps, and then giggles again because _really_. This is _actually happening_. He knows J would be okay with it, but he needs to keep his head, here. Even before Lindsey, this wasn’t something they did a lot. "Gee. Unh." Gerard growls again—seriously? And yet there's Frank's dick, getting hard—and Frank licks his lips, mashed sideways against the mirror. God, he hopes Goodwill sterilizes every surface in their store. Often. "Are you sure?"

"Hm?" Gerard sounds distracted, nosing at the base of Frank's skull, lips in his hair as he grinds a tight circle against Frank’s ass.

"What, uh—shit." Frank closes his eyes and has to swallow, hitching his hips back a bit without realizing. It feels _so_ good to be hemmed in like this. He's hot all over and covered in stupid desert dust and there’s a ray gun holster trapped between their bodies. "Why?" he finally manages.

Gerard stops moving, inhales deeply with his nose still buried in Frank's hair. "Feels good to see you," he says after a moment, voice low. He swallows loudly. "Missed you."

Frank giggles again. "Did everyone get this welcoming ceremony?"

"Fuck." Gerard smiles, lips against Frank's neck. "No." He steps back slightly. "Sorry. I just, things with me and Linds and B are so good right now, and we talk about stuff. Stuff like this." Gerard runs his palms down Frank's sides and back up again, like he’s reminding himself it’s really Frank. “Having a kid with someone, it’s this _experience_ , y’know? It brings you together, like you don’t even have to find words for it, you both know how it feels.”

Frank peers over his shoulder and Gerard pulls back enough so they can actually see each other. Frank's cheek feels hot, the other one cool against the mirror as his breath beads moisture on the glass. He raises his eyebrows because _yeah_ , he knows how it feels.

Gerard bits at his lip, shiny-wet when he lets it go. "This year... this _record_ feels like that to me too. And today it just—feels right. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing, I didn't really plan to—um."

Frank smiles and waggles his eyebrows. "Now it's creepy 'cause we're dads."

Gerard grins, kind of crooked and blinding at this close range, and it makes Frank's throat close up a bit. Fuck, he missed this loser so bad. "You're right," Gerard says, "no one wants to see that shit." They both laugh and he punctuates it by reaching over to swing the stall door shut on them.

Frank's stomach swoops, even though he's already got Gerard's dick against his ass. "What do you want to—"

"Just let me?" Gerard asks quickly. Suddenly his hands are wandering all over Frank's torso, grabbing at his stomach and his side and the backs of his arms, still pressed up warm against his back. Frank kind of likes the sensation, the cool metal of Gerard’s wedding ring as his hand brushes bare skin, the eager way Gerard maps his stomach, the ridges of his ribcage. It feels real, like Frank isn’t the only one who’s kind of amazed that this is happening.

"Can you stay still for me?" Gerard asks, and it's so soft that Frank is tempted to be a shit just to get that heat back in Gerard's voice, hear that growl again. But he also wants to know what he's supposed to be staying still _for_ , so he just says "Uh huh," a bit breathlessly, and clenches his fists against the mirror.

Gerard sweeps wide palms out Frank's shoulders and down the length of his arms, crowding him against the glass until they hear the clink of Frank's belt buckle against the mirror. His mouth is wet and open as he licks at the nape of Frank's neck, tongue hot.

"Unngh," Frank says nonsensically against the glass and then "Ah!" when Gerard bites at the side of his neck and doesn’t let go, keeps his teeth there as Frank twitches and gasps. It slips over into that side of pain that overwhelms him, that feels like his cock leaking a wet spot in his briefs. Frank bucks his hips back hard.

"Fuck," Gerard breathes, and Frank moans in response when Gerard licks over the indentations from his teeth, the tingling of his skin prickling all down his back and up into his scalp. He squeezes his eyes shut, rides it out.

Gerard’s fingers tuck into the leather holster, tugging a bit. “You look hot in this shit, you know that?”

Frank’s panting but he says “Maybe,” with laughter in his voice. “You gonna take it off after all that hard work getting it on?”

Gerard bites at that spot again and Frank gasps, but then he moves back, hands slipping along Frank’s spine, pushing the t-shirt and vest up to his shoulder blades. The material pinches tight in Frank’s armpits but his pulse kicks in when he feels Gerard’s mouth on his lower back.

“Oh god,” he breathes, Gerard’s tongue licking a broad, slow line up and then back down to the waistband of his jeans, hair brushing Frank’s skin.

“Fuck, Frank,” Gerard mutters, hands drifting down to grope at Frank’s ass again through the tight jeans—jeans which he hasn’t actually paid for yet—while he licks over to Frank’s sides, biting lightly where he’d dug his fingers in earlier. “Your tattoos. And you taste— _fuck_.” There’s the shift of fabric as Gerard settles onto his knees on the floor.

“What,” Frank jokes breathlessly, “like dirt and sweat?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Gerard moans, and Frank has to giggle even as he humps the mirror a bit because of _course_ Gerard gets off on that shit.

Gerard’s fingers wander around to where Frank’s hips are pressed hard against the mirror and he pries underneath to get at Frank’s belt. Frank feels like he should just reach down and undo it himself, but doesn’t think that’s what Gerard wants right now. There’s something about feeling handled by him, hands smoothing over Frank’s hips, pulling down his zipper. Gerard hooks his fingers into Frank's pants and gets them down over his ass, reaching around to carefully not touch his dick while he lifts the waistband of Frank’s briefs out and down.

Frank’s so hot all over that he only registers that his bare ass is hanging out when he feels Gerard’s exhale ghost across it. “Fuck.” He’s been living and breathing babies and jealous dogs for the past few weeks, raciest daydreams involving getting to fall asleep wrapped around his wife. But now that he feels Gerard’s broad palms on his ass, thumbs digging in and spreading him open, he wants to get his dick sucked _so_ bad.

“Oh— _shit_ ,” Frank chokes out, and then “Oh my _god_ , seriously?” when he realizes what’s going on. Gerard’s pushing him forward again, Frank's dick skidding across the mirror, sticky-wet tip a smear against the glass, before Gerard licks a line down between his ass cheeks.

“I—Gerard. _Gerard_.” Frank’s not really sure what he’s trying to say because holy _shit_ , when Gerard started grinding against his ass he was expecting a sloppy make-out session, maybe shitty hand jobs at best, and now—Jesus _Christ_. “I don’t even— _unh_. Fuck!”

Frank’s eyebrows are drawn together so hard he has to consciously relax them, and then that's all shot to shit because Gerard’s tongue is _inside him_ , holy fuck, and his skin feels stretched tight, sensitive, like every nerve ending in his body is wired to that one spot. He pushes forward, pressing his dick against the glass, unyielding and cool but _so good_ right now. _God_.

“Frank,” Gerard gasps, right into him, around his tongue so it sounds kind of muffled before it degenerates into a moan that vibrates against Frank. Shit, _shit_. His fingertips scrabble against the mirror and he’s actually _writhing_ against the probably-disgusting glass, pants around his thighs keeping him from spreading his legs like he wants to, metal zipper of his jacket clinking against the mirror as he rubs his chest around, just needy for the sensation. Gerard is licking hot and wet over him, his stubbly cheeks and chin rough against Frank's skin and god, Frank wants to touch his own dick _so bad_.

“Gee,” he says urgently, “fuck, shit, can I—please?” Frank sighs shakily. His fingernails dig into his palms. “ _Please_.”

“Mmm?” Gerard mumbles—into Frank’s _ass_ —before his mouth slides away and he bites gently into soft flesh, spit cooling against his skin and making Frank shiver. “Is this okay?”

“Yes. Holy fuck, _yes_ ,” Frank says breathlessly, the edge of laughter in his voice because they are in a _Goodwill_ in the middle of the _desert_ right now.

“Is this—” Frank swallows and feels Gerard pull away, hands on Frank's hips to turn him around. Frank leans back heavily against the mirror and looks down at him. Gerard meets his eyes, lips red and wet, spit shining down his chin. His gaze is dark and his stringy red hair is pushed back from his face.

“Fuck,” Frank giggles, closing his eyes because this shouldn’t be something he ever gets to see and it’s so stupidly sexy he feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin. He thinks about Lindsey and Jamia and how fierce, beautiful and understanding they both are, and how he loves them so much right now.

“What.” Gerard grins and places a kiss on Frank’s thigh, still meeting his eyes and acting like Frank’s cock, dark and hard, isn’t all up in his face. Gerard’s hands are gripping Frank’s upper thighs, fingertips digging into his skin.

Frank shakes his head, hair falling into his face. “Nothing.” He bites his lip. “L.A. made you kinda slutty, huh?”

“Fuck off,” Gerard says, squeezing Frank’s thighs hard enough to bruise and grinning up at him. “I can go suck someone else’s dick, okay?”

“See?” Frank giggles again. “Slutty!” They both laugh and it feels safe and comfortable even though Frank’s dick is waving back and forth when he moves and his thighs are really pale against the darker skin of Gerard’s hands.

“Ungrateful bitch,” Gerard mumbles, but he leans in to nose at the underside of Frank’s dick and Frank moans even though it barely feels like anything. Gerard makes a fist and runs one broad thumb lightly down the side of Frank’s cock to the base, breathing hot and hunching his shoulders a bit. “Oh—shit. _Yeah,_ ” Frank breathes, and then Gerard’s ducking his head, lips over his teeth like a pro, and sliding his mouth down over Frank’s dick. “Fuuuuck.”

Gerard stays like that for a moment. Frank can feel his tongue flat against the underside, can feel Gerard starting to suck a bit. His mouth is hot and wet and _so_ fucking good.

Frank can’t help his hands carding through Gerard’s hair, rubbing at his scalp encouragingly when Gerard hums at him, a vibration that makes Frank moan and tip his head back against the mirror, eyes falling shut.

“Can you deep throat that shit?” Frank asks without thinking, challenge in his voice, slipping into the language he’s used to with J. Gerard just goes for it though and Frank spreads his palms, feels Gerard’s jaw open under his fingertips. Frank’s chin is on his chest, rising and falling with heavy breaths while he watches those freckled, pale shoulders hunch as Gerard takes him in.

“Shit,” Frank mutters and thrusts forward a bit. It makes Gerard gag but he doesn’t pull off, just eases back before swallowing wetly around Frank’s dick and pushing down again. Frank can feel the head of his cock bump the back of Gerard’s throat, constricting around Frank as he swallows and _god_ , Frank’s sweating so hard in this fucking leather vest that he’s going to smell like the change room too by the time they make it back to the diner.

Gerard’s eyelashes are dark shadows on his face, eyebrows drawn together, lips stretched wide and wet. He’s gripping Frank’s thighs hard and, between moaning on almost every exhale and rolling his head back and forth against the mirror, Frank notices Gerard’s hips are hitching forward, can see the imprint of his cock against the faded jeans. Frank grips Gerard’s hair a little harder.

“Don’t cream those pants,” Frank says breathlessly, “you’ll have to cut them off later.”

“Fuck,” Gerard laughs, pulling off and breathing heavily into Frank’s thigh. Frank’s spit-slick dick slides against his ear, red strands of hair sticking to it. Frank stares for a second, because. _Damn_. “This shit takes some serious lung capacity,” Gerard pants.

Frank grins, licks his lips. “Old man.” He pushes forward again, impatient, and Gerard smiles into the side of Frank's dick, turning his face to trace a vein with his tongue. “I could—” Frank swallows. “I could come in your hair?”

“No fucking way am I spending the afternoon with my brother and my wife with your jizz in my hair,” Gerard laughs. He finally wraps a hand around the base of Frank’s cock, licking down around his fingers and then back up to the tip.

Frank opens his mouth to talk but Gerard squeezes him hard and he just gasps, jaw locking. “Don’t feed me a line about it making my hair lustrous or some shit,” Gerard warns, “I’m gonna finish this ace blow job, and then you’re gonna let me rub one out all over your tattoos.”

“What?” Frank asks, distracted. Gerard swallows him down suddenly, starting up a fast rhythm between his hand pumping at Frank’s base and his mouth sucking up and down his length. “ _Unnnngh_.” It brings Frank close to the edge embarrassingly quickly, the build from writhing against the glass for so long, spit still slippery all along the crack of his ass. “Shit, I’m—”

Gerard makes a _yeah?_ sort of sound, lips meeting his hand on each duck of his head, and Frank can feel his tongue working, not breaking suction as spit drips out of the corners of Gerard’s mouth and makes his knuckles all shiny. It sounds obscene and amazing.

Frank’s beading sweat at his hairline and he gasps “ _Shit!_ ”, feels his balls draw up. He grabs fistfuls of brilliant red between his inked fingers and holds Gerard down as he comes, a sweep of heat through him to his core. His head is loud as he smacks it back against the mirror, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open.

“Jeeeesus,” Frank slurs, releasing fistfuls of hair and smoothing it down, petting Gerard’s unshaven cheek.

Gerard slips off with a wet noise, breathing heavy against Frank’s softening dick. “Yeah,” he says, voice low and hoarse.

Frank rides that blissed-out feeling as long as he can before opening his eyes. Gerard’s swearing and fighting with the button fly on his acid-washed jeans.

“For fuck’s sake.” Frank sighs and lets his legs buckle, folding down onto his knees and tucking his boots under his bare ass. Gerard’s mouth is so red and shiny, and his eyes are hard and dark, unfocused as Frank tries to push his fingers out of the way. “Hey, Gee,” Frank says, “my momma taught me my manners, okay?”

Gerard grins, meeting his eyes, and he looks like he _wants_. It makes Frank’s scalp tingle. “Can you—uh,” Gerard says, shoving his hands under Frank’s shirt to lift it up to his nipples. “Hold this?”

Frank frowns but does what Gerard asks, one hand clutching the fabric over his own chest. His belly is all folded up, dark hair and spent dick between his thighs. Gerard shuffles forward and gets one knee between Frank’s, pushing his jeans down and getting his cock out. “Yeah, just— _fuck_ , Frank.” Gerard is staring hard. “Sit up on your knees?”

Frank sits up, still kind of awkwardly holding his t-shirt out of the way, leather vest hanging open and chest bare. “Mmm,” Gerard moans appreciatively, and spits in his palm before rubbing it over the head of his dick, curling it into a fist that slips down his length. Frank stares and blinks when Gerard leans forward to drop his face into Frank’s neck and press his dick against Frank’s stomach.

“Oh,” Frank says, breath displacing some red hair hanging in his face. “My tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Gerard replies softly, hips rutting forward as he jacks his dick, spit-slick head rubbing against Frank’s stomach and up over where he knows the bottom of his chest piece is. “I kinda have this thing, it’s like—” his breath hitches and Frank feels it, Gerard's shoulders lifting and falling again. “ _Shit_. It’s beautiful, it’s someone else’s piece, and it’s kinda...”

Frank smiles and pushes his chest forward against Gerard’s hand, feels the hot wet tip of Gerard’s cock and his fist bumping against Frank’s stomach every time he pumps himself. Frank walks his free hand up Gerard’s spine under the loose fabric of his shirt. His skin is hot and a little damp with sweat.

“You like to fuck it up?”

“ _Nnngh_ ,” Gerard moans, loud and needy, hips pushing forwards again. Frank spreads his fingers to curl around the base of Gerard’s neck, shirt rucked up around his arm, and squeezes.

“Yeah you do,” Frank says, “you like to come all over other people’s art. Lindsey’s totally game, I can tell.” Gerard makes a broken little noise and Frank grins. He licks all around his fingers and works his hand between where Gerard’s pressing their chests together, gets his palm around Gerard’s dick just below his hand.

“Oh _yeah_. Fuck. _Frank_ ,” Gerard whispers brokenly, and the soft tone of his voice sounds so private, so important, that it makes Frank’s eyes prickle. Frank breathes deep.

“Come on,” he whispers, turning his head to say it into Gerard’s hair. Gerard’s fingers have closed over his own and feel like a vice grip as he pulls their fists up and down, fast and starting to go a bit dry on his dick.

Gerard whines, high and tiny, and freezes with his hips pushed forwards, two bony points against Frank's stomach. Wet warmth spills over both of their fists as Gerard rubs them up and down and side to side, all over Frank’s skin. He can smell it, has forgotten what it’s like to have someone else’s come smeared all over you, and it makes him feel kinda dirty and used in a way he’s forgotten he loves.

“Fuck yeah,” he confirms.

Gerard pulls back, grinning, and they stare at each other for a second, dicks out and pants at their thighs, sitting on the floor of a change room. Frank is suddenly very aware that he is wearing a ray gun holster and has spunk on his tattoos.

“I love you, fuckface,” Gerard says in a used-sounding voice, and before Frank can say anything back he cups Frank’s face in both his palms and gives him a really hard, close-mouthed kiss, fingers wet on Frank’s jaw.

Frank raises an eyebrow at him when he pulls back. “You too. I _guess_ ,” he answers with a smile. They pull themselves to standing and Frank has just hiked his underwear and pants up, wincing at how sticky it feels, when Gerard pushes his hands away. He steps easily into Frank’s space and zips and buttons his jeans for him, slipping the belt buckle back in place and wrenching it closed, too tight again. “Ugh,” Frank inhales, “it’s not a fucking cummerbund, man.”

Gerard’s got a small smile on his face, eyes on his hands as he squeezes Frank’s sides again. “I know.” He looks up, readjusts Frank’s collar and pulls a bit at his holster. “You look like you’re ready to fight some draculoids.”

“ _That’s_ a new pick-up line,” Frank observes. He tugs at Gerard’s necklace, smiling in a really stupid way at the fact that he _can_ right now, before getting over himself and patting it back down against Gerard’s chest. “Should we pay for this shit?”

There are a few middle-aged women browsing the racks when they come out, and the sunlight reflecting off the asphalt outside is bright after the dimly-lit change room.

They leave Frank’s zippered monstrosity and leather pants in the stall, although Frank’s careful to get his phone out of his back pocket and check for any missed calls—a baby emergency while he was getting his dick sucked would make him feel like the worst dad _ever_ —but there’s nothing. He thinks about what it’ll be like to tell Jamia later, if she’ll be surprised about where Lindsey’s at with it.

“No one tries anything on in this store?” Frank asks Gerard as they approach the counter, and lets Gerard get his wallet out of his backpack to pay for him, pulling forgotten price tags off of Frank’s clothing and reading them out to the cashier.

“Thanks,” Gerard smiles as the woman hands him his receipt. “You might see us again in the next few days.”

In the car, Gerard tosses his bag in the back and they slam their doors shut at the same time. When he turns the ignition they both jump, his own voice wailing back at them, before Frank laughs and turns the stereo down. The engine rumbles and Gerard hooks his bare arm over the back of Frank’s seat as he turns to look over his shoulder and reverse out of the lot.

“Alright, back to reality. Or fantasy. Or whatever,” Gerard grins.

Frank bites at the soft pale skin of Gerard’s inner elbow, smiles when Gerard looks at him. “We’re actually doing this,” Frank says, shaking his head as they pull out onto the road. “Fuck.” He bounces a little in his seat, hears the buzz of cicadas as they fly by the last of the houses and back out into the desert. He turns the volume up.

Gerard sings along to his own voice again as they turn out onto the final dirt highway that takes them back to the diner, telephone poles whipping by against the blue sky.

“Blaauurghh!” Frank yells suddenly because he feels like he needs to, waggling his fingertips out at the gnarled little spiky trees they pass, the smell of dry earth and grasses filling him up when he inhales. The drive of his own guitar pounds from the stereo and pushes at his chest from the inside out like he’s going to float right out of the window into the massive sky.

“What?” he asks when he notices Gerard looking at him, unable to keep the smile from his face, thrumming with good feelings, thinking about his band and his girls and his music.

Gerard looks like he’s holding back a grin. He waves a hand at Frank’s face. “You’ve got—“

Frank frowns and runs a hand over his cheek, and— “Fuck!” —it comes away sticky. Gerard laughs, smacking the steering wheel with his palm. “You piece of _shit_ ,” Frank says, loud enough to be heard over the music, but he can’t keep from laughing as he wipes Gerard’s own jizz off on his fancy jeans.

Gerard doesn’t say anything, but he’s grinning. It’s like he’s waiting for the right moment because then, right in time with the song, he deadpans “Na nana na. Nana na.”

"Ha fucking ha." Frank punches Gerard in his stupid girly arm and then has to lean out the window a bit to smile at the road shimmering with heat and the sun beating down on them, because he thinks that in this moment he knows what it’s like to feel so bright.

* * *

END


End file.
